


A List Of Reasons The Bunker Should Get A Sofa

by lizbobjones



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Season 13 spoilers, for a vague undefined future date ignoring spoilers, written after episode 4 of season 13, yes this is blatantly cashing in on my other sofa fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-11-03
Packaged: 2019-01-29 02:59:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12621624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizbobjones/pseuds/lizbobjones
Summary: Cas comes back to a perpetually sofa-less Bunker.In which the author blames all the miscommunication that's taken place since the Winchesters owned the Bunker on the fact they never got a sofa.





	A List Of Reasons The Bunker Should Get A Sofa

1: Sam is always rearranging the furniture in the library so he can put his feet on something.

He’s sitting like that when they get the call. He is rocking one of the library chairs with a foot against the back rest and the other on the edge of the seat so he could balance it on the back legs and push it back and forth as he thinks. He probably hasn’t even noticed that he’s doing it.

The visual is burned into Dean’s brain, the last thought he has of a trivial sort of annoyance. A feeling that they had never had the time to settle here, not properly. Not enough to get a sofa so Sam could stretch out his great big lumbering sasquatch legs and at other times Dean could spread out on it with popcorn and a six pack and watch a TV in an actual communal room so he didn’t have to rely on Sam’s whims to watch anything larger than a laptop screen… Hell, he’d even share it if it would convince Sam to get one and move it down here…

The thought wafts back, the treacherous thought of when the batcave was new and mysterious to them, of filling the bunker with their own furniture, their own books. Their own friends.

And instead Sam is reading an old tome about demon banishing, and scratching the hardwood floor as the two legs of the chair still on the ground slip back slowly under the pressure of his propped up feet.

It’s as domestic as they would ever get, Dean thinks, and then the phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Dean.”

 

2: The bunker feels too large and too small all at once.

The kitchen is echoing and uncomfortable, the table too rigid, the surfaces shining metal. Dean watches Cas sitting at the table, and wonders how he could ever come sit beside him. Or across from him. Or even –

He leaves the room, even though Cas has just looked up and is waiting for him to come in and talk to him.

He has better luck, but only comparatively, stumbling on him in the war room later.

It comes almost as a fresh shock all over again to see him sitting there, coat off and folded over the back of one of the other chairs, leaning to look at some of the research Sam has gathered to help them with Asmodeus and Jack and alternate dimensions and – too much to juggle at once. Cas is familiarising himself, drawing himself back into their lives. Making their problems his problems.

Jack’s sitting with Cas, earnest as a puppy, waiting to Cas to comment on whatever he’s reading, and Jack looks up when Dean comes in when Cas doesn’t. Dean can’t bring himself to smile, a strange feeling of resentment towards Jack for taking Cas’s attention rising up.

Dean’s only just made amends with the kid, so he shoves that down hard.

He deposits the two cups of coffee on the table even though he’d meant to drink one himself. To sit and talk. As he tries to hurry from the room his hand finds its way to Cas’s shoulder, to squeeze it reassuringly, and he lets his hand linger a moment too long, trailing behind him even as he’s taken a step away.

Cas looks up, surprised, a smile starting to appear on his face, and Dean bolts.

He has a sofa of sorts in his room, but it’s hard and uncomfortable and he mostly keeps it around for the aesthetic and the laundry sorting space. Laundry accumulating space. It seems pointless when he’d sit on his bed every time when given a choice. He thinks about moving it up to the library, but it doesn’t seem right. It’s not what he wants.

It’s too short for Sam’s legs anyway. It’s not a family sofa.

Later, Cas surprises him in the library. Dean’s come up there to eat the remains of the celebratory pizza and to look for cases. Get out of the Bunker. Maybe accidentally adopt a road-side sofa.

He ought to go get Cas’s truck back for him. They’d have to drive out there together before they split up to drive home in a convoy. If they saw a sofa on the way then they’d have something to put it in to drive it back. If he made sure there were enough cables in the back of the Impala before they left…

Dean doesn’t think he ever wants to go to that entire corner of the country again, even though Cas is right here, seeming to worry about where to sit.

 

3: If they had a sofa, Dean could ask Cas to sit with him.

He sits opposite, at the same table as Dean. He’s only in arms’ reach if Dean leans right over.

Dean think he should tell Cas he wants to get his truck. That he hopes Cas’s room is comfortable. If he wants another mix tape… Anything really.

“So, uh, back to the plain blue tie.”

Cas looks down at it, and picks up the end, looks at it like he’s never seen it before. “It feels familiar. Comforting, in a strange way.”

“It feels like you.”

Cas smiles and looks down, and Dean thinks he’s blushing.

 

4: If he had a sofa he’d have leaned over and easily kissed Cas right then and there.

He stares, awkwardly, running impossible scenarios through his head, until the nervous tension pushes him to his feet.

“Well, um. It’s late. I should, uh, crash out before I fall asleep face first on the laptop.” He’s got crime scene photos on the screen. It still wouldn’t be the worst thing he’s used as a pillow.

“Good night,” Cas says, still obstinately sitting in his chosen seat as Dean backs off, as if in fear, towards the door.

 

5: They could have spent the night on that sofa.


End file.
